


Frost Pearl

by DJ_TRex



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Cold Weather, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen, Internal Monologue, Planning a Heist, if you squint you can see future coldflash, jewel thief, saving the universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-05-26 18:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6251440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DJ_TRex/pseuds/DJ_TRex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard "Captain Cold" Snart plans the perfect wintertime heist; too bad it isn't as easy as he thought it would be...</p>
<p>Note: this takes place after season 1 of the Flash, but before DC Legends of Tomorrow picks up. Later chapters involve a crossover with the Dresden Files universe.</p>
<p>Rated Teen and Up for now...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Planning & Execution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phonemonkee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phonemonkee/gifts).



The weather was colder than normal and that was just fine by him. Central City’s location meant that it never got down below freezing for too long, but December started off chilly and had only gotten colder and colder. It was the evening of the 21st and it was as frigid as he had ever known it to be. That being said, it meant that more people were staying inside, wrapping presents, drinking mulled cider, warming themselves by the fire and not paying attention to anyone walking around the downtown art district in a dark blue parka with the fur-line hood pulled around his face.

The art district was eclectic to say the least. There were antique galleries, high end photography studios, shops that catered to sculpture, and little Bohemian places that up-and-coming artists could display their work in hopes that a rich art patron would discover them; but the one that Len “Captain Cold” Snart was interested in had been hosting a collection of carved gems since late November. This gallery was relatively new, only opening last June, but since then had three different special collections that had made the art crowd in Central City flock to “Gallery Arctis” and give the young owner their patronage. This had given him plenty of time for him to case the joint. He had decided early on that this job was going to be a sort of Christmas present to himself; he didn’t bring Mick, Lisa, or any of the other Rogues in on this one. He had planned it all – even down to doing it on the same evening that the Central City Police Department had their annual holiday party. That would mean that his, what were the kids saying these days, yes, “frenemy”, the Flash, would be a little less likely to be on the lookout for any evil-doers this evening.

He ducked around the side of the building and walked briskly towards the rear, his breath pluming in front of him as he put himself into a slow jog to ensure that the sweep of the exterior cameras missed him. There wasn’t any snow on the ground to show footprints as the low temperature hadn’t brought any precipitation with it…just biting air and leaden skies, so he didn’t worry about the camera showing his tracks. He made it around to the back of the building where the loading dock was: this was the weak point. There were no guards at the rear door after hours and only one stationary camera fixed to the middle-distance in front of the door. Captain Cold hugged the wall and smiled at the Palmer Technologies Secure-Tite™ keyless entry pad next to the door handle. It was sad that people thought expensive locks were really going to keep their junk safe. True, this model was advertised as “the Cadillac of door locks” with “the latest advanced technology” and boasted that the number of possible combinations made it “impossible” for thieves to pick…and actually, Cold agreed on that point. What this door failed to stop was social engineering and that, he thought, was one of his special skills. It only took two lemon drops, along with a little flirting and dancing to get the seven digit code out of the gallery’s regular FedEx delivery guy, who didn’t even realize what was going on as he was more interested in how Len’s body felt against his as the EDM reverberated through their bodies on the dance floor.

Stuffing his gloves in the parka’s spacious pockets, Cold entered in the code: 8675309. Seriously, the code was 8675309.

Slipping in through the door and closing it quietly behind him, Cold pushed back his hood and let his eyes adjust to the dim light of the room. This room served as the store room, break room, and general office for the gallery and was cluttered with boxes and lined with locked cabinets and one small desk, probably from Ikea, by the looks of it, that held a computer that even Cold knew was about 5 years out of date with a large monitor that was showing four different views from the gallery floor. He wiggled the mouse, brought up the program menu and was not surprised that the password for the security program was the exact same as the code from the door. Really, he thought as he actually rolled his eyes, a few million dollars’ worth of carved gem stones and artwork were out front and this was pretty much the extent of the security measures. Letting out a small sigh of disappointment at the milk run that this was turning out to be, he put in a few keystrokes that would disable the security footage from recording. Now the only thing he had to worry about was any contact security alarms on the case that held his prize.

From his two previous visits to the gallery, he knew that what he was after was in the center of the middle room. He carefully left the back room and silently stalked around the counters and display stands that held wonderful examples of carved gemstones: emeralds and rubies carved to look like roses; a large piece of aquamarine fashioned into a leaping dolphin; jade pagodas with diamond accents. He passed them all by. He knew as soon he heard about it, about her, he had to have it. Not only was she a rare and beautiful piece on her own, her name said it all: Fryst Perlan. The Frost Pearl.

The pearl itself was a remarkable example of patience and planning. The oyster it came from took a grain of sand, mere grit, and over time it covered the irritation with layers and layers of cold, hard perfection. Actually, Cold thought with a flash of insight that was a pretty apt metaphor for him. However, that alone wasn’t why this was the perfect gift for himself, not only was the Fryst Perlan a lustrous moon of milky perfection, it was a large lustrous moon of milky perfection. It was slightly larger than a ping-pong ball; not the biggest pearl ever discovered, but the luminous quality of it was exquisite. The light played off of its surface like it was an opal. And then an artist, in what could have been the worst idea of what to do with a pearl since Cleopatra drank one, decided to carve it. The pearl could have been ruined, could have been reduced to shards of nacre and dust, but the artist took his time and carved a face, her face, into the iridescent glowing flesh of the pearl and she emerged. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes upturned slightly, her hair cascading over the delicate points of her ears. The way her cheeks were carved and her chin were shaped gave her an otherworldly visage. That face on any sculpture would have been a masterpiece, but on the pearl, it almost came to life. She was the Frost Pearl.

Cold reached the case and smiled. The thick glass case covering the Frost Pearl had a simple pressure wire; he had taken care of alarms much more sophisticated than this when he was just a kid. He took out his weapon and fine-tuned the output to a narrow beam and carefully used it to not only cut a circle out of the glass, but used the icy beam to grip the glass so that it wouldn’t tumble into the display. He slid the glass circle into his pocket and holstered his cold gun, relishing the familiar weight against his leg. He took a look around, licked his lips and reached into the case, almost giddy with the feeling that he was mere inches away from possessing her. This was one of the easiest jobs he had ever pulled off. His fingers brushed against the carved gem and he was surprised by the arctic chill it seemed to be giving off. He gently cupped the pearl in his palm and then everything when white. Numb and white. So numb he couldn’t even breathe. So white he couldn’t even see. Then there was nothing.


	2. Waking Up Alone

He was laid out flat and the first sensation that he became aware of was a pressure on his lower body; it didn’t feel like he was restrained, he knew what being tied up in bed felt like and this wasn’t it. Without opening his eyes, he carefully and methodically flexed his muscles and limbs, trying to figure out what was going on. Nope, no restraints. He cracked his eyes open and looked down; the weight on his lower half was what appeared to be a heavy white, shaggy pelt of some sort, covering him up because, well, he was totally naked. He wasn’t a stranger to waking up naked in a strange bed, but this was ridiculous. He tried to figure out how long he had been out, but his normally accurate internal clock seemed to have stopped working. 

He mentally kicked himself…the job he had planned seemed so easy, too easy, because it appeared to be a trap for him. As he started to sit up, he took inventory of his surroundings. He was in a small room, maybe 10’ by 8’ and the platform bed he was in sat in the center of the room. The walls were white, the floors and ceiling were white and as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, he saw that the floor seemed to be made up of irregularly shaped slabs of dark grey slate. He inhaled deeply and stood up; the air was cold enough to raise goose flesh all over his body and scented with something he couldn’t quite place. Noticing a chest at the foot of the bed, he went over and opened it to see that there was clothing in it; not his clothing – not his parka, cargo pants, turtleneck, boots, and most importantly his cold gun, but at least he wouldn’t have to face whoever brought him here naked. 

Not the clothing he would have ever picked out for himself, but at least it all fit as if it were tailored for him. The pants were made from some sort of thin, supple black leather and molded to his every curve and bulge. The boots and vest, on the other hand, looked like something out of a renaissance faire, they were, like the pants, made from leather, but both were charcoal grey with delicate white snowflakes stitched along the seams, and like the real deal, no two snowflakes were alike. The boots laced up to his knees and Len wondered at how well they fit him. There was no shirt, just the leather vest that laced into a deep v over his chest, he shrugged, he generally wore shirts that covered up his tattoos, but he wasn’t ashamed of them either. Just as he reached for the door, it swung open, but no one was there. He scanned the room again, he didn’t see any cameras or electronic surveillance, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t some pinhole camera in the room somewhere. 

Squaring his shoulders, he walked into the hallway. The room he had just left was at the end, so there was only one way to go. There were no doors on either side of the hall, nothing on the walls, just the white walls with the grey stone floor that seemed to go on forever; he tried counting his steps, but his ability to count and track even the minutest detail seemed to be failing him. Len thought that whatever drug they used to knock him out could still be affecting him; because there was no way that this hallway could really be as long and as endless as it felt. He stopped and shook his head, ears straining to hear something besides his own breathing. He thought he heard a faint giggle behind him and turned around. There was no one there. He turned back around and took a quick step back, as not ten feet in front of him now were two doors, ten foot high and carved from ice. The ice was translucent enough to be suffused with different colored lights that must be on the other side. He now thought he heard voices murmuring as if there was a cocktail party going on beyond the doors. Never one to shy away from a challenging situation, he stepped forward and extended his arm to push the doors open, but like the bedroom door, they swung open on their own power and he strode through.

Len liked to think he was prepared for anything, he had, in the course of planning various robberies, hobnobbed with Hollywood A-listers, politicians, and captains of industry; he had been to lavish parties where vices were quietly indulged; he had been to sex dungeons and fetish clubs; he even had been to a few comic-cons, but the sight before him was like all of those past parties were put in a blender, along with some Cirque du Soleil entertainers and a generous amount of LSD, and then poured out over a vast ballroom that seemed to be carved out of the insides of a glacier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is super short...but I will hopefully make up for it with the next one!  
> This is going to be a cross-over with one of my favorite fictional characters...Let me know what you think so far.  
> I am going out of town this weekend and will work on the next chapter whilst away.
> 
> Special Thanks to PhoneMonkee for reading, editing, and letting me bounce my ideas off her noggin.


	3. Queen of the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captain Cold is at a party the likes he has never seen and he starts to see that there is more than is dreamt of in his philosophy...

Before Len could walk more than 10 feet into the vast room, a tall woman with short, dark blue hair holding a clipboard seemed to appear at his side. She was wearing a short dress made of a sheer silvery material that clung to her and left very little to the imagination. He looked her up and down, and his eyes widened when he reached her face, specifically, her ears, as they were curved upwards into long elegant points.

“Is this some sort of costume party? Are you supposed to be sexy Spock?” Len asked in his best drawl.

She didn’t seem amused at all by his questions, “You are late, Captain. Late. I am trying to fit you into a very busy schedule.” She looked him up and down, “At least you look adequately presentable. Are you ready?” She started to walk forward but stopped after a couple of steps when she noticed that he wasn’t following her.

“Listen sweetheart, I don’t know you, I don’t where I am, and I better get some answers soon, or…” He left off speaking and gestured broadly with his hand, “…something bad might happen.”

She barked a short, humorless laugh at his words and closed the short distance between them, “Well, if you want something bad to happen, Captain, you are definitely in the right place. But I doubt you want to start any trouble as the Queen is holding Solstice Court tonight and they’re all itching for some blood sport.”

Blood sport? Len decided that he could probably get more information with charm than threats and broadened his smile. “So the Queen is here, huh? I don’t suppose you have a couple of minutes to fill me in a little bit. I don’t want to upset any royalty.” 

She tapped a slender finger against her clipboard, “My job is to bring you to the dais so you can be presented to the Court, not to gossip about the Queen of Air and Darkness. If you want information, you will have to speak to Her Knight afterwards. Now, will you come with me or do I need to get the guards involved?” She looked to her left and Len followed her gaze, there were three burly guards, each easily over six feet tall, in what looked like full medieval armor, complete with swords, who seemed very interested in Len’s decision. 

Len held up his hands as a sign of surrender, “You had me at ‘guards’. Let’s do this thing.”

The crowd seemed to part in front of his guide and he took the time to really look around the room and take stock of his surroundings as his head finally felt clear. There seemed to be a couple hundred people in the large room, and they stood or sat in groups talking, eating, and doing what people typical do at cocktail parties. Wait, people usually didn’t perform fellatio in front of an audience at parties like this…but there were a couple of men very much engaged in private activities in this very public place and no one seemed to think anything of it. Len arched an eyebrow and kept walking. Interesting. 

As they made their way towards the back of the room, Len also started to notice that not all the people were “people”. In the broadest sense of the word they were beings with bilateral symmetry and parts that were mostly configured into what is normally considered human, but there were some subtle and not-so-subtle differences. Like hooved legs, fur, wings, scales, antlers, and tentacles. Len swallowed, he was pretty sure he wasn’t at a costume party. 

His guide was slowing and Len drew up beside her. Just ahead, there was a cleared space in the room that was about 50 feet across and at the far end there was a raised three-tiered platform that looked as if it was made from a solid block of ice. There was a man and a woman standing in the middle of the open space; they were standing about five feet apart and their faces were both tilted up to the top tier. Len let his eyes drift upwards and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding when he caught sight of Her. 

Len had always had a complex relationship with his emotions. From an early age he learned it was best to lock away his feelings and build walls around his heart. There were only three people who seemed to be able to elicit genuine emotion from him: one was his baby sister, one was his partner in crime, and one was someone who just recently sped into his life; he was still trying to figure the last one out. Looking at Her, however, brought his walls crashing down and Len started to feel things that he had kept buried for so long, he had all but forgotten they existed until he looked at Her.

She sat upon a throne that seemed to be an extension of the icy dais. He narrowed his eyes and really looked at Her. She was undoubtedly the model for the Frost Pearl, but he could see now that as exquisite as the gem was, it didn’t do Her any justice. Her skin had the same creamy tones of the pearl but there was a faint blush to Her cheeks that the pearl didn’t have. Her hair was palest lavender, neatly arranged in waves and curls like a pinup girl from the ‘40s, falling just so the tips of Her ears peeked out. Her eyes were luminous and even standing 50 feet away; he could see that they were a shade of deep violet. She was dressed in what looked like an haute couture dress straight from the runways of Paris. It was off the shoulders and tight through the bodice before going down to a full skirt; it shimmered in the light like it was made from thousands of opals. Her lips were what really stole his attention; they were full and stained a dark plum shade that made Len want to kiss Her just to see what it tasted like. 

Looking over at Len, his escort made a ‘tsking’ sound, “I forgot what seeing Her for the first time could do to mere mortals.” She produced a gossamer kerchief out of thin air and handed to Len, “Wipe the tears from your face before She sees them. She doesn’t appreciate human emotion.” Len accepted the wispy cloth and was genuinely surprised that he did have tears coursing down his face. 

“My God, what is She?” Len asked.

“It’s Goddess,” his escort replied curtly, “and quiet, She is about to pronounce Her verdict.”

The whole room seemed to be vibrating in anticipation over what was happening in front of them and as the woman on the throne parted her lush lips to speak, it felt as if everyone in attendance leaned forward slightly to better hear Her. 

“On this night, of all nights, you bring your petty squabbles to bear in my presence and upset the festivities for all of My guests. I thought you both smarter than that, but I see that is not the case. Now you have to pay the price.” Her voice carried to the furthest reaches of the cavernous room easily, but didn’t echo off the walls; it was as if the ice sheathing the walls swallowed the sound. The throaty timbre of her words were paced in a cadence Len recognized immediately as it was exactly the way he spoke when he was delivering his bad guy monologues to his hero. The woman on the throne pursed Her dark lips and continued, “Blood must pay for blood. One of you must become the sacrifice.”

A murmur of excitement ran through the crowd and a frisson ran through Len’s body and he looked down at his hands, they were shaking. He was getting caught up in the emotions of the crowd and he needed to get back into control. He started running numbers in his head and regulated his breathing; the mechanical portion of his brain working to soothe the animal part. After a few breaths, he felt his discipline was back and raised his head to look at the spectacle before him.

She had, in the space of a few heartbeats, stood up and gracefully walked down the stairs carved into the dais and started to make Her way towards the pair. Len saw that She was tall for a woman, even without the stiletto heels She was wearing She was easily around six feet tall. Her long strides made short work of the journey to the two people who, he noticed, were both visibly trembling.

Stopping within arm’s reach of the offenders, She lifted Her hands in a gesture that immediately silenced all susurrations from the audience. The man and the woman had both bowed their heads, as if not looking at Her was actually an option. 

“So, who will fulfill my decree?” Her voice was barely a whisper, yet everyone heard it.

The man cleared his throat, “She is the one that birthed the whelp before she killed it, let her pay Your price.” His voice wavered slightly and he gave a sidelong glance at the woman next to him as the woman’s shoulders started to shake as she quietly sobbed.

“What you say has merit,” She said with a slight nod to Her head.

Emboldened by Her words, the man lifted his chin and looked up at His Queen.

The Queen reached out to the man, as if to brush his cheek with Her long, elegant fingers, but as Her hand drew close, She made a cutting gesture across his neck with Her hand and Len saw an arterial spray arc crimson through the air; the bright red blood steaming where it landed on the frigid floor. The man’s body dropped to its knees and toppled backwards and Len saw that the neck had been neatly sliced all the way across and down to the windpipe. The woman beside the corpse gave a low cry, but stood her ground.

“But then again, you were the one who raped her, so I think it is fitting that you pay the price.”

Blood dripped thickly off of Her shapely hand as She held it in front of Her for all to see. Her blush had deepened as if cutting the man’s throat had excited Her and Her eyes had changed from a deep violet to totally black so that no sclera was showing. Len noticed that not a single drop of the dead man’s blood stained Her gown.

Len’s guide licked her lips nervously and looked at her clipboard. She took the pen that was attached to it and scratched a name out. “Well, that took a shorter amount of time than I expected it to.” She tapped the pen on the next name on her list, “Captain Cold, you’re up next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Phonemonkee for reading this over for me. 
> 
> I thought it was natural that the Queen of the Winter Court would want to meet Captain Cold. What does she want and what does Harry Dresden think about it all? That is coming up in the next chapter! 
> 
> What do you think of this crossover? Let me know in comments!


	4. Meeting New People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len meets someone who seems to be a fan...
> 
> Phonemonkee is the best editrix ever...any spelling/grammar error are my own.

As Len was processing the scene in front of him and reconciling it with the fact that he was “up next”, he noticed what appeared to be a swarm of insects closing in on the corpse. No, not insects, small winged creatures, but not bugs. They ranged from a few inches long to a couple of them that came close to a foot long with matching wingspans. The bodies of the creatures were perfectly formed human bodies, just in miniature, with a variety of wing types. He saw the slender, shimmering wings of dragonflies; there were quite a few with the more substantial wings of flying beetles; and one the larger ones had the large pale green wings of a luna moth. Len was fascinated with the way the seemingly slow wing strokes kept the perfect miniature female figure aloft; her long green hair stirring in the breeze her wings were creating. The creatures, as Len’s logical mind refused to put the more obvious “Disney-esque” label on them, swarmed the now-cooling corpse and, despite their small stature, were dragging the man’s body off to the side of the room. Two of the larger ones were conscientiously cleaning the smears of blood off the flagstones; one of them quickly dipping his mouth down to lap at the congealing fluid.

The woman who had survived the Queen’s pronouncement and swift justice seemed to finally understand what had happened and silently dipped into a low curtsy. Len looked at the Queen’s face and watched as the total black of Her eyes flashed at the movement; Len knew what bloodlust looked like and those eyes spoke volumes of the unstated desires behind the onyx orbs. Her face twisted into a smile that her voice did not match, “Arise, Alinora, and leave my sight. Reflect on your actions that lead to this conclusion.”

The woman, Alinora, quickly and gracefully stood from her curtsy, backed up a few spaces from Her queen, who was still holding up Her blood drenched hand, turned and practically fled from the assembly.

Len’s escort cleared her throat, lightly tapped her clipboard twice, and broke the silence that had settled like a weight on the room, “May I present Captain Cold, Your Majesty?” She gestured with her chin at Len, motioning him into the open space.

Len had been in tense situations before where his life, literally, was on the line, but this was an entirely new experience. He squared his shoulders and strode forward, his carefully measured steps stopping precisely five feet in front of Her where he then dropped to one knee dipped his head in what he hoped was a correct form of respect for a few seconds. He lifted his head and his right hand with the kerchief in it. “Your Majesty.” He said with a clear, even tone that had a slight echo as it bounced off the walls.

She arched an exquisite eyebrow at him and reached forward to pluck the proffered cloth from his hand. He noticed that Her eyes had reverted back to violet and that Her skin radiated cold that caused him to shiver. She wiped the blood from her hand and dropped the now bloodied cloth to the ground and neatly turned on her heel, striding away from where Len was kneeling.

“Arise and follow me, _my_ Captain.”

She had placed a certain weighted emphasis on the word _my_ that made Len blink. The assumed authority and possessiveness in her tone actually gave him a bizarre sense of satisfaction and belonging. Not wanting to dwell on these feelings, he arose with a smooth economy of motion, straightened up, and followed after the beautiful form in front of him.

As if a spell was broken, the noise level from the gathered people rose, music was again wafting in the air, and many people breathed a sigh of relief as they resumed their festivities.

Len assumed She was going back to Her throne, but She walked past and then behind the dais where there was a large wooden door set into the wall of the cavern. As She approached the massive entryway, the door swung inward. He was ten steps behind Her when he reached the threshold; he stopped and took in the room, his years of stealth, thievery, and self-preservation kicking in to let him soak in the details. It was austerely decorated with surprisingly modern designs; glass shelves and a glass topped desk were held up with coldly gleaming metal and cable. Frosted lampshades over silver torches shone over a white fainting couch where She was arranging herself. Aside from what looked to be a gray leather Aeron chair at the desk, the couch was the only available sitting space. The floor was still the gray flagstone, but it was covered by a large carpet with a mandala design in arctic blues and greens.

The only other inhabitant of the room was a very tall man who looked to be of an age with Len, he was leaning on the corner of the desk. Len gauged him to be at least 6’7” and he was clad entirely in black; he was even wearing a long black duster-style coat…hell, if the guy was wearing a cowboy hat, he would look like he stepped off the set of a western. The right pocket of the duster dipped a little lower than the left to which Len attributed to the weight of a gun, probably a .38, and there was a six-foot long staff carved with symbols that was propped on the wall next to the man.

Len stepped through the door and it silently swung closed behind him.

The man stood up and walked towards Len, he had a somewhat goofy grin on his face that sort of reminded the criminal of the smile he often saw on the Flash’s face…open, friendly, and a little awestruck, but knowing full-well that they had the upper hand in any situation. That smile frustrated Len as much as he loved seeing it. It was hard not to smile back, but years of perfecting what Lisa and Mick called “the Snart Smirk™” helped him to control the impulse and place that patented look of calculated aloofness on his handsome visage.

“Wow, I can’t believe you are real…I mean, really here…it is such a pleasure to meet someone I have read so much about…I can’t believe you are, well, who you are. Leonard Snart, Captain Cold, the leader of the Rogues, the man who mastered absolute zero, Central City’s own super villain.” 

The tall man actually blushed as he was rambling on, yep, this guy definitely reminded Len of Barry.

Before tall, dark, and dorky could continue, She cleared her throat.

“My Knight, time is precious as the evening wanes, please get down to business.”

This seemed to sober the man up, “Yes, of course, my Queen…it’s just not every day you get to meet one of your favorite characters.”

Favorite characters? Len tapped his left foot in a rare show of impatience.

“Anyway,” the man continued looking directly at Len, but Len noticed that he was careful not to look the shorter man directly in the eye, “My name is Harry Dresden, I am wizard and the Winter Knight, She’s the Queen of the Sidhe, and we need your help to save the universe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't think it would take this long to get this chapter finished...but after a mini-vacation with Phonemonkee, I picked up an upper respiratory infection that has been kicking my a$$! Now that I am finally feeling better...I can concentrate on writing. 
> 
> As always, likes and comments help to feed my muse.


End file.
